


My Own Keeping

by SailAweigh



Series: Sail, Ahoy! [2]
Category: Star Trek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-27
Updated: 2009-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-11 20:04:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/116549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailAweigh/pseuds/SailAweigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris Chapel doesn't like Jonas Rand as much as he does like chocolate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Own Keeping

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


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**Entry tags:**

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[chapel/rand](http://sail-aweigh.livejournal.com/tag/chapel%2Frand), [femslash](http://sail-aweigh.livejournal.com/tag/femslash), [fic](http://sail-aweigh.livejournal.com/tag/fic), [star trek 2009](http://sail-aweigh.livejournal.com/tag/star%20trek%202009)  
  
  
**Title:** My Own Keeping  
 **Author:** [](http://sail-aweigh.livejournal.com/profile)[**sail_aweigh**](http://sail-aweigh.livejournal.com/)  
 **Rating:** PG-13  
 **Pairing:** Chapel/Rand  
 **Warnings:** a little slap and tickle, some coarse language  
 **Word count:** ~3300  
 **Summary:** Chris Chapel doesn't like Jonas Rand as much as he does like chocolate.  
 **Disclaimer:** Not mine, never mine, I just like to play with them.  
 **A/N:** The title is based on a quote by Admiral Lord Horatio Nelson, full quote at the end of the fic. This is a slight spin-off from [First Gain the Victory](http://sail-aweigh.livejournal.com/188240.html#cutid1), an Age of Sail AU I wrote for [](http://community.livejournal.com/space_wrapped/profile)[**space_wrapped**](http://community.livejournal.com/space_wrapped/), a Kirk/McCoy Advent community. I don't think reading that is strictly necessary to enjoy this story, but I wouldn't mind if you did. Unbeta'ed, I'm afraid. But Word didn't give me any ugly squiggles, so I'd say it's mostly okay.

Chris Chapel liked it when Dr. McCoy sent him to the apothecary shop. Besides all the herbs and chemicals that the doctor asked for, he could sniff the essential oils that were stored away in their neat little vials. The orange oil and the evening primrose were the two that he liked best. The latter, especially, made a soothing lotion for the rashes he acquired across his chest from the special bindings he'd worn for the past four years of his life. He had presented himself to the Royal College of Surgeons just after his eighteenth birthday and he'd worn long pants and coats ever since. And he didn't regret a minute of those four years. If it meant being taken on as part of Dr. McCoy's surgery, it was well worth every sacrifice made.

He waited while the apothecary measured out the oils into their individual jars and sealed the corks with a little bit of hot wax to keep them from leaking. They'd be used the very first thing he got back to the room, but still, he appreciated the man's care to keep the expensive fluids from spilling out of their containers prematurely. While a surgeon's mate was quite adequately compensated, and _Enterprise_ was known for taking the best prizes, the oils were still costly and any attempt to preserve the integrity of his funds was greatly appreciated.

Once the vials were individually wrapped in layers of paper, they, along with twists of various powders and herbs, were bound together with a larger piece of paper and tied with string. After tucking the bundle under one arm, Chris paid the apothecary, gave him a smile and a hearty wish for a good day. Making sure his overcoat was buttoned completely to his chin, he set off down the lane to his lodging.

He was looking forward to having a bath, in which he just might use a spare drop of the orange oil to scent the water. The rest would be used to scent his soap, when he made it. No one had yet to comment on the scent, so it would appear it was deemed manly enough by the rest of the crew. He had purposely stayed away from the more floral scents: rose, violet, hyacinth and such. There were few concessions he hadn't made to his current lifestyle, but this one in particular was one he was willing to tread a fine line on, being ever so careful, however, not to step over it. It was far better to be seen as a bit of a dandy, than as a molly.

Chris had decided early on to eschew the extra piping, ribbons and lace that many of the young officers added to their uniforms as being too hedonistic, and he wore his hair cut in the shorter manner that many of the young men had been adopting in the past few years. The captain was one of the few men he knew who persisted in wearing his hair long, in a queue. He had his suspicions for Kirk's reasons and they all had to do with the looks that Dr. McCoy gave him when he was on deck without his cover, the sun glinting in the blond strands that curled down over his shoulders. His very fine shoulders, and he wouldn't mind seeing that hair out of the queue, either. He cut his thoughts off sharply. No use thinking about anyone on board _Enterprise_ as a possible romantic entanglement, that way lay discovery and discharge.

He arrived at his lodgings, stopping at the kitchen on the way to his room to request a hip bath be brought up. He joked a little with the scullery maid, Beth, before making arrangements for his two uniforms to be brushed out and laundered as necessary. Smiling at the cook, he begged a piece of bread, some cheese and a little ale to take back to his room for a midday repast, since he'd missed the seated lunch in the dining room while running his errands. With a wink, he slipped a tuppence or two in her apron pocket, before gathering up the tray of food and continuing on his way to his room.

Once in his room, Chris set the tray on the table, placing the package from the apothecary's next to it. He unwrapped it, briefly, to remove his oils and then repacked it, setting it to one side for his return trip to _Enterprise_ , tomorrow. He wanted to enjoy one last uninterrupted full bath before they deployed for Channel blockade duty for another two to three months. Especially since he could have his bath in front of an actual fireplace and not just an iron bucket full of sand with hot shot poured into it to keep the chill off the infirmary. Fire and ships didn't go well together and he was fortunate in that he worked where at least some concession to actual heating was required. For all that, he yet envied Mr. Rand prodigiously, working in the captain's sitting room with a real closed stove for most of the day.

Chris startled out of his reverie when he heard the knock at his door. Setting down the knife he'd been using to slice the cheese, he opened the door to a couple of footmen carrying buckets of hot water. Having them set the buckets down near the fireplace, he quickly moved the privacy screen away from the hip bath in the corner and dragged it, too, over to the fireplace. After helping them fill the tub, he doled out a penny to them each and quickly shut the door after them. Leaning against the door for a second, he looked at the steam rising from the bath and enjoyed the feelings of luxury and hedonism provoked by the sight.

Walking over to the side table, he removed two towels and a face cloth from the lower shelf and placed them next to the tub. Then, he put the bread and sliced cheese on a plate and set that next to the tub, too. Breaking the wax seal on the vial of orange oil, he tapped a few drops into the water. Once everything was arranged to his satisfaction, he began to disrobe.

Chris slung his jacket on the bed, quickly followed by his trousers, shirt and socks. Those would all be placed outside the door for the scullery maid to retrieve for the next laundry cycle. He stood there for a moment in his drawers, absently rubbing the top of one foot with the bottom of the other. Should he risk sending his drawers and binding clothes to the laundry or should he rinse them out himself while he bathed? Realizing he'd already poured the orange oil into the water and not wanting his clothes to smell of it, he quickly finished divesting himself of his remaining clothes and stacked them with the rest. Reaching for his dressing gown, he wrapped himself up and carried his pile of clothes to the door, where he carefully placed them outside for Beth to pick up.

At last he could relax in the tub, with some hearty food, a fire to warm him and no responsibilities. No Dr. McCoy shouting "Chapel, bring me the rectal dilators!" every time some overfed, beefy marine came in complaining of hemorrhoids. No Mr. Scott coming in with splinters in not easily explainable places that required his smallest tweezers and a magnifying lens to remove, claiming only he had a delicate enough touch to perform the task. No Mr. Rand barging in with the captain's demand that the doctor attend to him in his sitting room, "Right now, Bones, I am about to expire." And the smirking looks on Rand's face every time the doctor went rushing out the door with a shouted, "You're in charge, Chapel. Try not to let them spread their venereal diseases to each other whilst I'm gone." Stepping into the tub, he released his breath in a long, drawn out sigh of pleasure.

It was Rand that annoyed him the most, though. Those spindly arms that weren't good for anything but holding the captain's pens ready for him when his signature was needed on documents. Why, he'd very nearly dropped Lieutenant Pilford over the side of the ship before Trafalgar when they were transferring him to the side basket! Rand, for one, could benefit from Dr. McCoy's muscle building regiment, unlike himself. Chris wasn't tall at 5' 8", but he was solid and broader across the shoulder than Rand. He was willing to bet that the blond wasn't naturally so. A little black sulfur, alum and honey in the hair over time would leave it that brassy shade that looked dull even in the sun. Not like the marigold petals his mother used to steep and then apply as a poultice, to add shining highlights to their already naturally blond hair. It was something he missed, dearly, that time spent with his mother over the little niceties that had made up their life before it had diverged so radically. He hadn't spoken to her since he enrolled in the Royal College and doubted she'd be amenable to a visit as long as he persisted in his course of action. He nibbled on a piece of cheese while he thought of his mother, wishing it was that sinfully rich chocolate drink of Fry's. It was a treat to be looked forward to whenever they used to go to the lending library; a stop at a coffee shop for a cup of chocolate while they perused their acquisitions. Perhaps he'd go back to the apothecary shop on his way to the ship, tomorrow, and purchase some cocoa powder. Dr. McCoy might be convinced that it could be used to energize the crew when they were lacking in vigor. And he wouldn't tell Rand about it. Let him get his delights from the captain that he paid such sycophantic attention to. Plus, who did he think he was trying to fool, growing his hair out and tying it back in a queue like the captain, the slimy little toad-eater.

Chris was just getting back into the heart of his internal monologue, his teeth ripping into a chunk of the crusty bread as if biting off Rand's head rather than that of a toad, when a banging on the door loud enough to wake the dead startled him enough to drop the bread into his bath water. "Damn and blast it," he muttered to himself, borrowing one of the doctor's favorite phrases, for while he disapproved of profanity in general this seemed to be a very appropriate moment to use it. He wrenched his head from side to side looking for his dressing robe, forgetting that he'd placed it on the end of his bed, while the towels were laying on the floor right next to his bath. He shouted at the door, "I'm bathing, come back later!"

A muffled voice came through the door, few of the words coming through with any clarity, but he could make out something about the doctor, the captain and an emergency. Someone needed to learn how to project his voice better. Throwing his hands out in exasperation, he felt around on the floor where he finally remembered he'd placed the towels. Picking up one of the towels, he stood up and started to dry off. "Give me ten minutes to get dressed, I'll be right out," he called through the door as loudly as he could.

Chris was scrubbing the towel across his back, when he heard the doorknob make a determined rattle. Then the door, despite his panicked "No!" was thrust open on the end of a spindly arm that was attached to that insipid, bow-lipped yeoman with the brassy hair that he had just been mentally lambasting. Rand's mouth rounded into a nearly perfect 'oh' when he saw Chris standing in the bath, with everything that nature had given him exposed to view.

"Shut the door, you imbecile!" Chris bellowed at Rand at nearly the volume and tone that Dr. McCoy was capable of, something he'd been practicing in order to keep his confrontations with the good doctor on as even a footing as possible considering their disparate ranks. He hastily wrapped the towel around his mid-section and chest, scrambling out of the tub, flinging water droplets right and left in his flight to shut the door. When he reached it, he used one arm to bang the door shut and the other he threw across Rand's throat and pinned him with his back to said door in a full-body check.

"Don't say a word," hissed Chris. "If you had waited just one more minute, I would have at least had my robe on, you snake." He pressed his forearm harder against Rand's throat, tipping the shorter man's head back and making him gasp for breath. Rand's hands came up, and rather than tug at the arm across his throat, he scrabbled at the towel until he pulled it loose, then reached up with one hand and tweaked a full nipple resting on a very pert breast that was revealed when the towel dropped to the floor.

A startled yelp issued from Chris's mouth and he decided the insult was more than enough to warrant a slap across Rand's face; a face which took on a thunderous hue before the owner enacted another swift pinch to the other breast. With nearly identical huffs of breath, they reached out and pulled first on the other man's hair, then knees and elbows going every which way, they slapped, pulled and poked at each other until Chris finally wrapped both arms around Rand's waist and half dragged, half pushed him onto the bed. He quickly scrambled up the other man's body until his hips were straddling the other man's waist and he pressed his hands down against Rand's chest.

Chris stilled instantly. He gave Rand a speculative look before removing his hands and sitting back on his knees over him asked, "And what do you call yourself?"

The other man lie there, a searching look in his eyes, before he held his hands up by his head in surrender and said, "I go by Jonas. It's close enough for me to recognize, if someone uses my given name as they know it."

Chris leaned to one side and brought both his knees together on one side of Jonas's body. He looked more closely at Jonas's cheeks, his neck, pulled the lapels of his jacket away from his shirt, picked up a hand and looked at the shape and size of the fingers and palm. Tentatively, he reached out and stroked one hand down what he realized was a very downy cheek, now that he thought about it. He reached down to untie the other man's necktie and carefully opened the top button of his shirt, reaching the first two fingers of his hand in to stroke the silky skin he found underneath.

After resting his fingers on the racing pulse in Jonas's neck for a moment, he pulled his hand back and looked at Jonas thoughtfully. "I would not have thought to find two such as us on the same ship. It defies the odds, don't you think?" He reached an arm out to the end of the bed, where his dressing robe had been placed before his failed attempt at a relaxing bath and shoving both arms through the sleeves, wrapped it around himself, tying the belt off without fanfare. He rested his hands on his knees when he was done.

"What now?" Chris questioned. "It would seem that we both have something to hide. Will this be a case of 'scratch me and I'll scratch thee?'" He worried his lower lip with his teeth, starting to look a little nervous.

Jonas gave him a considering look, then broke into an impish grin. "I do think we can come to a mutually satisfying arrangement, should you choose." He reached out with one hand and started playing with the tie on Chris's robe, pulling on the material slowly, giving the other man time to say no. "Do you know of Sapphic love?"

A blush stained Chris's cheeks. He hesitated before admitting, "It's something I have read about, but never considered for myself. Despite the manner and style I have been sporting for the past four years, I have always considered myself as having the normal appetites for my sex." He let Jonas continue to pull on the belt until it fell loose and the robe gaped open.

"All you need say is nay and I will stop," said Jonas.

"I do not think I will say nay, at this or any other time. I hated you, I thought, because you were so close to the captain, who I have complete admiration for, but I think now I realize I was jealous that he was well able to monopolize your time. You have very pretty lips, you know. I would like to know them," he asserted.

Jonas smiled in return. "You shall know them, then. And as much as I'd like to take the time to show you more of the ways of Sappho, I came with a message which I must deliver or be found delinquent in my duties." He sat up, buttoning his shirt back up with a regretful sigh. "Captain Kirk and Dr. McCoy have been called to attend a meeting at the Admiralty today at 1600. Dr. McCoy wants you back at the infirmary since Seaman Jenkins is still ridden with fever and needs a constant watch. There isn't anyone else he will trust in this matter, except you."

Chris snorted. "He barely trusts me; to hear him berate me for number of cases of pox he has to treat when we are in port, you would think I'm personally responsible for all these men getting sick from their doxies!"

Jonas coughed to cover a laugh, which earned him a disapproving glance from under lowered brows. Finished knotting his necktie, he reached over to Chris's robe and snugged the lapels over his chest. "You need to get dressed, but before you do I want to do one thing to leave you with an incentive towards lessons." Pulling Chris into him by the lapels of his robe, he placed his lips against the other man's and brushed them back and forth a few times before parting his lips slightly to lick at Chris's mouth with his tongue. A slight gasp came out of Chris's mouth as he opened to Jonas, letting his tongue slide in to merge and play with his own. It was utterly delicious and might even be better than chocolate, but that was a hypothesis to test at another time.

"Do you want to stop at the apothecary shop with me tomorrow to pick up some cocoa powder? I'm sure I can replicate something similar to that chocolate drink you can find at Fry's coffee shop, with a little nutmeg and cinnamon." Chris smiled at Jonas across the bed, deciding that he would be glad to call this person his friend amongst the unbound barbarism they found onboard the mostly male _Enterprise_. Hitching their stars to each other's coattails only made sense in this nonsensical life they'd made for themselves; there was no disgrace to building alliances that might just last them lifetimes.

 **A/N-2** Nelson's full quote: "My character and good name are in my own keeping. Life with disgrace is dreadful. A glorious death is to be envied."

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**Fic: My Own Keeping, STXI, Chapel/Rand (R)**   
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